


Find me defenseless

by impulsive_astrophile



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Actual Puppy Fox Mulder, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Case Fic, Dana Scully Angst, Dana Scully Would Flip Tables For Her Man Okay, F/M, Fox Mulder Whump, Hurt Fox Mulder, Hurt/Comfort, No betas we own our mistakes and cry about them like men, Profiler Mulder, Protective Dana Scully, casefile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impulsive_astrophile/pseuds/impulsive_astrophile
Summary: “How did you get Mulder’s phone?” She asks, praying she’s wrong.“Haven’t you guessed?”Comes the voice.“He’s with me. Say hi, Fox.”A pained grunt is the only response.“Now, now, Fox, what have we said about using our words?”A muffled“fuck you”comes through the speaker then, followed by a chiding,“manners! Where are your manners?”and the sharp sound of skin on skin.Scully’s heart races, anger making her feel red-hot. No one touches her Mulder. “Don’t you hurt him, you son of a bitch!”or:Mulder is called to Des Moines, Iowa, without Scully to profile a serial killer targeting young men with military/law enforcement  backgrounds - but without Scully there to watch his back, Mulder is kidnapped by the killer.  When Scully gets a taunting call from the killer, she flies to Des Moines and raises hell to get him back. Mulder's hers, and she'll be damned if anyone stands between her and whoever dares to hurt him.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 35
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP, but I'm actively working on it! I'm in the middle of chapter 3 rn, and hoping to be finished with the entire fic soon!
> 
> Also, this is not beta'd, so any mistakes are mine!

**_Dana Scully’s Apartment_**  
**_Georgetown, DC_**  
**_June 7, 1996_**  
**_0247_**  


Scully wakes to the ringing of the phone that she keeps by her bedside. Groggily, she sighs and rolls over, reaching for the receiver. She doesn’t even have to look at the caller ID to know who it is. 

A week ago, Mulder had been called away to Iowa to consult on a case -- an escalating serial killer, if she was remembering correctly -- and she’d had similar pre-dawn calls from him every night since, though he’d told her suspiciously little about the case so far. _That’s probably what he’s calling about now,_ she thinks to herself. _He probably wants to run a theory by me._

She’s not bitter, she tells herself, that he’d been called out to this case alone. It definitely wasn’t, as her mind insidiously suggested, an attempt from someone higher up to put another chink in Mulder’s armor - they have no way of knowing how much profiling affects him, she reasons; no way of knowing how much he needs her to be there so she can try to keep him from shattering to pieces, or to put him back together again when he inevitably does anyway. No way. Right?

God, she can’t help but think of how he’s coping. He’s not helpless, she knows; he’d done this and survived before she came along - but at what cost?

He needs her. He needs her, and she can’t be there for him because they sent him alone.

Okay, maybe she’s bitter.

“What is it, Mulder?” She answers, resigned but more than a little concerned. 

However, a voice that is decidedly not Mulder’s answers. _“Agent Scully, how lovely it is to finally hear your voice.”_

Scully is fully awake in an instant. “Who is this?” She demands.

_“Wouldn’t you like to know?”_ The voice teases, continuing before she can retort, _“all in good time, Agent Scully.”_

“How did you get Mulder’s phone?” She asks, praying she’s wrong. 

_“Haven’t you guessed?”_ Comes the voice. _“He’s with me. Say hi, Fox.”_ A pained grunt is the only response. _“Now, now, Fox, what have we said about using our words?”_

A muffled _“fuck you”_ comes through the speaker then, followed by a chiding, _“manners! Where are your manners?”_ and the sharp sound of skin on skin. 

Scully’s heart races, anger making her feel red-hot. No one touches her Mulder. “Don’t you hurt him, you son of a bitch!”

An excited giggle answers. _“Ooh, she’s feisty! I see why you like her so much, Fox. Dana,”_ the voice continues, _“Fox and I have been having so much fun. Well, I’ve been having fun… all Fox here can talk about is you.”_ A sound that could be chains rattling. _“I have to say, I’m intrigued. Why don’t you come meet us?”_

Scully barely suppresses a growl. “How am I supposed to know where to find you?”

_“Oh, your friend Walter might be able to tell you where to start,”_ the voice says, followed immediately by a click. 

Scully’s never been more glad to have Skinner on speed dial in her life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some context.

**_Motel 6_**  
**_Des Moines, Iowa_**  
**_June 5_**  
**_0230_**

If an outsider were to see the state of Mulder’s motel room, combined with that of the man himself, they’d probably have him committed. 

The darkened room, bathed only in the light from the lamp on the desk, is covered floor-to-ceiling in crime scene photos, scattered notes, and case files. Mulder sits hunched over the desk, writing frantically on a scrap of paper as if the words are being forced out of him. 

_What’s my motivation?_ Mulder wonders. _My targets have all been young men with histories of military service and/or law enforcement experience. Do I have authority issues? Did my father serve in the military and abuse me?_ He discards the last thought. _No, my victims are too young. Maybe I have a sibling in the military that daddy likes more than me, or I served and got passed over for a promotion by some hotshot who thought he was better than me._

Yeah, that could be it.

_But all of my victims have all had different hair and eye colors. Been different heights and weights. Served in different branches of the military or worked for different police departments. How am I choosing them? And why am I escalating?_

_I held my first victim for more than a week - took my time with him, really let myself enjoy it; took weeks to cool off between him and my second victim… but I’ve had 4 new victims in the last 3 weeks. I only held the latest for 48 hours. I started out slow, just like I always do, but I ended up beating him to death. Why?_

Mulder looks at the crime scene photos of the latest victim. Richard Miller had been savagely beaten; there wasn’t an inch of his body that wasn’t bruised or broken, and his face had been so caved in they couldn’t get dental records. Identifying him had been nearly impossible. 

_Okay, so I’m angry. No, not just angry - I’m furious, and it’s only getting worse with each victim. I’m looking for something in them, and whatever it is, I’m not finding it…_

_Oh._

_I’m looking for a surrogate._

He could smack himself, it’s so obvious. It’s been right in front of his face this whole time! 

Mulder reaches for the phone for a fresh sheet of paper with fingers he doesn’t notice are shaking. _Time to translate this profile into something people can actually use._

He’s interrupted by a knock at the door. “Agent Mulder? It’s officer Brady Hoover.” 

Mulder doesn’t recognize the name. He groans; he’s not in a state to see anyone, let alone some rookie he’ll probably scare the shit out of. “Coming,” he calls, taking a brief moment to try to at least straighten out his clothes before opening the door. “What brings you by, officer Hoover?” Mulder asks, trying to go for ‘comforting senior agent’ rather than ‘crazed man with a gun’. 

The officer at the door looks young -- definitely a rookie, Mulder thinks to himself -- but makes an admirable attempt not to look shocked at Mulder’s disheveled appearance. “Um, the chief sent me. She thinks we have a line on the killer.” 

Mulder perks up, instantly more alert. “I’ll grab my coat. Where is he?” 

The kid hesitates as Mulder turns to grab his blazer. “Well, we’re not actually sure --”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?” Mulder asks, ushering Hoover back so he can shut the door behind him. 

The pair heads out to the patrol car the kid left running in front of the mote, climbing in. “Well, Chief Burns thinks we found his hideout, but he wasn’t there when we got there. She wants you to check it out and see if you can learn anything about him.”

“Perfect,” Mulder says as Hoover pulls the car out of the parking lot. “That should give me everything I need to finish my profile.” 

“Already?” The kid looks surprised. “Wow, that was fast! What do you have so far?”

Mulder stares out the window at the passing blur of shadowy hedges on the roadside. “He’s a young white male, somewhere between twenty and thirty, probably of average build and intelligence. He'll have barely finished high school and quickly pursued a career in law enforcement or the military -- possibly both -- instead of higher education, feeling as though he deserves to have power over people. 

“He feels as though he’s better than everyone else. People who know him would probably tell you he’s aggressive, arrogant, and easily provoked - liable to throw a punch over the smallest sleight and never forget that you’ve wronged him. They would not be surprised to learn that he’s a killer. 

"His choice in victims tells me that he’s angry at some perceived injustice - maybe he got passed over for a promotion or fired because of a man whom his victims remind him of. This man is out of reach for him, though, and he’s trying to find a surrogate in these victims but none of them have been right; that’s why he’s escalating. He’ll continue to kill until either he finds the perfect surrogate -- which is unlikely -- or he’s caught.” 

Silence reigns for a few minutes after Mulder finishes his profile. Then, seeming to find his words, the kid says simply, “wow, you seem to know a lot about this guy.” 

“I’ve been profiling for a long time,” Mulder says grimly. 

The kid nods. Mulder doesn’t notice the way his jaw clenches and his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

\- 

**_Location unknown_**  
**_June 5_**  
**_0303_**  


It doesn’t take them long to pull up outside of an average-looking one-story house. 

Mulder frowns as Hoover parks, looking around. “Where is everybody? Even if it’s been cleared, there should be at least a couple of officers here to secure the scene.”

The kid shrugs. “The chief knew we were coming. She must’ve sent them home.” Hoover gets out of the car, crossing to the other side of the car to open Mulder’s door for him. 

“Hmm,” Mulder says to himself, still frowning but getting out of the car nonetheless.

“Why don’t you head on in ahead of me,” the kid suggests from the trunk, where he’s rooting around for something. 

Mulder nods, making it about halfway to the door before hearing the scuff of boots behind him and turning, expecting to see the kid jogging to catch up to him. Instead, he’s met with a police-issue flashlight to the temple; he crumples to the ground, motionless. 

“That was easy.” Hoover smirks to himself, discarding the flashlight to haul Mulder over his shoulder. “Fuck, you’re heavy,” he grunts. 

Hoover carries him into the house, then down the stairs into the basement, where he plops Mulder down on a metal restraint chair. He whistles quietly to himself, strapping Mulder into the chair before retrieving a nearby pair of scissors and cutting through Mulder’s clothes, leaving him in just his boxers. The discarded strips fall to the ground in an uncaring heap. 

Hoover sets down the scissors and climbs the stairs, returning with a broom to sweep them up. They’re going to be here for a while; no reason to start with a mess, is there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is coming soon! 
> 
> Feedback is very welcome! 
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr if you want: @impulsive-astrophile


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter three! I hope you enjoy!

**_Des Moines Police Department_**  
**_Des Moines, Iowa_**  
**_June 7_**  
**_0250_**  


_“What do you mean, ‘He’s been missing for 24 hours?’”_ Skinner winces at the volume of Scully’s voice. _“Why the hell didn’t anyone call me?”_

“The Omaha field office assured me they had things well in hand, Scully,” Skinner attempts to placate.

Truth be told, he wasn’t happy about it either - had only been brought in on the matter himself a few hours ago when the field office got their second call from the killer. 

_“That’s a load of crap, sir, and we both know it,”_ Scully responds, not having any of it. Skinner doesn’t blame her.

“Be that as it may, Agent,” Skinner says, “what’s done is done. What we need to focus on now is finding Mulder and bringing him home safe.”

A deep, measured sigh comes from the other line, and Skinner can almost see her slipping her composure back on like a second skin - however short-lived it’s going to be with her partner’s life on the line. _“Yes sir. I’ll be on the next flight out. I’m already in the airport.”_

“I’ll have an agent pick you up when your flight lands,” Skinner says, taking a breath after her curt _“yes, sir”_ and prompt hang up. 

Putting down the phone, Skinner sits back in his chair, heaving a sigh. He’s already lit a fire under the ass of every agent from the Omaha field office, and the local police chief already had all of her people out looking for Mulder when Skinner’d arrived. Every available resource was searching for his agent. The best thing he could do now was to wait for Scully to arrive and keep her from killing everyone between her and her partner.

-

 ** _Brady Hoover's House_**  
**_Location unknown_**  
**_June 5_**  
**_0450_**  


Blind panic. 

That's the first thing Mulder experiences as he regains consciousness. 

He can't see anything. Why can't he see anything? 

His heart beats wildly in his chest as he swings his head around and blinks, trying desperately to figure out why his vision is black. 

_Ohgodwhycantiseewhycantiseewhycantiseewhycantise--_

"Ah, you're awake." He's startled out of his spiral by a voice from the dark. "How are you feeling?" 

Mulder can't answer; his heart is beating so fast it's hard to concentrate on anything else. 

"I see the little cocktail I gave you has kicked in," the voice says. Mulder notes vaguely that it sounds pleased. "I don't even have to check your pulse. I can see it racing in your neck from here." A chuckle. 

Oh, is that what that is? Mulder's not even sure if he can feel his heart beating anymore. 

"Don't worry, Fox. The panic should, unfortunately, pass in a minute. I just thought it would be a fun way for you to wake up." Mulder barely registers the words.

Soon enough, however, it seems the voice was telling the truth - Mulder begins to feel his heart slow, able to take a full breath for the first time in what feels like forever but in reality had only been a few minutes.

Once the panic has passed, Mulder is able to register and process several things: 1) the scratchy feeling on his face around his eyes - _a blindfold! So that's why I can't see,_ 2) the voice belongs to the rookie cop who'd picked him up from his motel room - _Brady Hoover,_ his mind supplies, and 3) he's currently strapped to some kind of chair, effectively immobilized from the chest down. _Guess I'm not going anywhere any time soon._

"Feeling better now, Fox?" Brady taunts. Mulder suppresses a full-body flinch at the use of his first name. "Good." The blindfold is yanked off roughly and Mulder has to blink rapidly as the abrupt change in brightness momentarily blinds him.

Brady stands before him -- dressed in casual clothes now, a sharp contrast to the uniform he'd been wearing earlier -- looking almost mild but for the manic glimmer in his eyes. He gestures to a table on his right.

Following his gaze, Mulder has to tamp down on a surge of fear - the table is covered in all manner of blades, cattle prods, stun guns, lighters and the ilk. _Oh, this is going to be bad._

Brady walks over to the table. "What shall we start with, Fox? Hmm? A blade? A flame?" He considers each one carefully, continuing casually as if discussing the weather, "Not up for talking yet? Funny." He picks up a cattle prod. "I couldn't get you to shut up earlier when you were telling me your profile." 

It was a universal invariant that once Fox Mulder started talking, getting him to stop was nigh impossible -- Scully could (and would) attest to this -- but never let it be said that he couldn't shut up if he really wanted to. He stares up at his captor defiantly.

Brady gives him a considering look that shifts into a slow smirk. "Wanna make a bet, Fox?” He doesn’t, actually - not that Brady was really asking. “I bet I can have you screaming your throat raw by the end of the day.”

Mulder physically bites his tongue to hold in a retort; lets his gaze hold his challenge. 

Brad laughs heartily. “You are _so_ much like him,” he muses. _He’s talking about the object of his anger,_ Mulder thinks to himself. “So arrogant. So sure you’re better than everyone else.” Without warning, Brady sparks the cattle prod and jabs it firmly into Mulder’s ribs. His back arcs as much as it can off the chair with his chest restraint, muscles contracting painfully as six thousand volts surge through them. He heaves in a relieved breath when Brady pulls the prod back, giving him a brief respite. “You know, you said in the car that I would likely never find a perfect surrogate for him; the last guy -- Rick, I think -- was so wrong I was beginning to think I’d never get justice. But you’re perfect. He’s finally going to get what’s coming to him.”

That’s it; Mulder can’t take it anymore. He’s got to know. “What did he _do?_ This guy -- what did he do to you that’s made you kill so many people?” _Fuck._ So much for his vow of silence. 

Universal invariant indeed.

“I _knew_ I could get you to talk,” Brady says, looking delighted. “God, you really are just like him. Can’t stand not knowing everything, can you?” He brings the prod down again, sending another 6000 volts through Mulder.

“What can I say?” Mulder pants out when he recovers enough to talk. “I’m a curious guy.”

Brady smirks. “Well unfortunately for you, Fox, I don’t think I want to say just yet. After all,” he brings the prod down again, “we’re just getting to know each other. You’re my _perfect surrogate,_ ” he mocks. “You’re not leaving here alive, and I plan on having plenty of fun with you before I put you out of your misery.” He shocks Mulder one more time -- on the other side this time, to even things out -- before turning to select a different tool. “We’ll have more than enough time to learn each others’ deepest secrets, Fox.” 

Brady turns back to Mulder, a cruel grin on his face and a new tool in his hand - a wicked-looking knife, blade ground to a gleaming edge. Mulder steels himself -- _ha_ \-- as Brady sets in on him. 

His screams carry out into the grey dawn.

\- 

**_Des Moines International Airport_**  
**_Des Moines, Iowa_**  
**_June 7_**  
**_0600_**  


The agent that picks Scully up at the airport is painfully wet-behind-the-ears; he ends every sentence with “ma’am”, stumbling over his words and refusing to meet her eyes. In any other situation, she might find it endearing, but now it only serves to grate on her already-frazzled nerves.

Luckily for both of them, the drive from the airport to the station takes less than 10 minutes -- if the poor agent had broken the speed limit a couple times getting her there neither of them was going to say anything about it.

“Where’s your ASAC?” Scully asks the young agent as soon as they get inside. The kid immediately points to an office at the back of the precinct.

Scully heads straight for it. Officers and agents alike part like the red sea to let her pass - Agent Scully is on the war path, and no one wants to be between her and her destination.

She barges through the door without knocking. “Why wasn’t I contacted sooner?” She demands without preamble.

The ASAC blinks at her. “Excuse me?”

“Agent Mulder,” she says slowly, “is my partner. Why wasn’t I contacted _immediately_ when you knew he was missing?”

“Protocol dictates --”

“I don’t give a DAMN what protocol states.” She slams her hands down on the desk, making the ASAC jump. “He’s. My. Partner,” she grinds out. “I should’ve been your first call.”

Scully sees a hint of fear in the ASAC’s eyes before he hides it, continuing casually, “To be frank, Agent Scully, we weren’t sure he _was_ missing. We figured he was just off being… ‘spooky’.” His mouth tilts up in a little grin at the mocking nickname.

“What do you mean,” Scully begins, low and dangerous, “‘you weren’t sure he was missing’?” She stalks around the desk, getting closer with each word. “Isn’t it your job, as regional ASAC, to make sure you’re getting regular reports from all agents under your supervision? To know where they are at all times?”

“Yes, but --”

“Then why didn’t you know that Agent Mulder was missing?” She has him now; the fear is back in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything. “This is a serious failure on your part. Now, because you’re my superior, and because I’m sure Assistant Director Skinner has already dressed you down for this, I’ll let it go for now. But rest assured,” she’s in his face now, almost nose-to-nose with him, “if you put my partner’s life in any further danger, or do _anything_ to impede the search, there will be no place on this Earth you can hide from me, regardless of your rank. Is that understood?” The ASAC nods. Scully backs up, satisfied for the moment that she’s put the fear of God into him. “Good. Now what’s the status of the search?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments nourish my soul :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a few days to actually write, but I'm pretty satisfied with how it turned out! Enjoy!

**_Fox Mulder’s Hotel Room_**  
**_Des Moines, Iowa_**  
**_June 8_**  
**_2327_**  


A squad car pulls up outside the Motel 6 where Mulder had been staying. The tires have barely come to a stop when Scully wrenches the passenger door open, stalking toward Mulder's room. The shitty motel wall shakes with the force of the door slamming behind her. 

_"Get some rest, Agent Scully. You look like you're going to collapse,"_ Skinner had said, not unkindly. _"I'll have an officer drive you to Mulder's room and wait outside to take you back in a couple hours."_ She'd tried to protest, but he'd held up a hand, silencing her. _"I'll make it an order if I have to, Agent,"_ he'd warned. _"Just go. Try to get some sleep. You're no use to Mulder if you're dead on your feet."_

She'd wanted to protest, ask _him_ when _he'd_ last slept, why _he_ wasn't _'getting some rest'_ , but she'd bitten her tongue. He was her boss, and she wasn't going to win. _Pick your battles, Dana._

Still, she was angry - at the officer in the car, for taking her away from the search, at Skinner, for being right, at her body, for betraying her and needing rest when Mulder was helpless at the hands of a serial killer. What was a day or so without sleep compared to what Mulder was probably suffering right now? 

A haphazard stack of files in Scully's path, unnoticed by her, sends her sprawling to the floor, face landing in a suspicious stain on the carpet. She curses quietly to herself, nose wrinkling as she quickly pushes herself back up and crosses to the bed, which is as cluttered as the rest of the room. Mulder probably hadn't used it once. 

She sighs; can't bring herself to care about scattering the files as she pushes them off and flops face down on the bed. The truth is, she _is_ tired - she'd been in a near-constant state of hypervigilance and irritation since she'd arrived, and it was draining. 

She's almost considering actually trying to get some sleep when her cell phone rings. The phone is in her hand before she consciously registers moving. "Agent Scully," she answers, breathless.

 _"Dana,"_ a hauntingly familiar voice greets her from the other line. _"It's lovely to hear your voice again."_

Scully nearly trips in her haste to get through the door and out to the squad car, hissing, "it's the killer," and gesturing with the phone in her hand to the officer who had climbed out of the car to see what was wrong. The officer scrambles for her radio, calling into the station for a trace.

On the other end, the killer continues. _"I feel like I know you. He always dodges my questions about him with a random fact about you. It'd be cute if he wasn't doing it to try to convince me I'm wrong about him. But I'm not dumb, no matter what he might think."_ The killer's disgust is clear in his tone. _"I see right through him. It's actually kind of pathetic."_ Then his tone turns considering. _"He begs for you, you know. When I'm hurting him. He begs you to save him. Do you want to hear?"_

She really, really doesn't - but when she throws a questioning glance at the officer and the officer shakes her head, she knows she's going to have to. They need more time for the trace. "Don't hurt him," she threatens, steel in her voice that doesn't match her trembling body.

 _"Oh, Dana,"_ the killer laughs, _"it's a little late for that. But don't worry - I'll just give him a little cut, to get his attention. He's pretty out of it right now."_ Scully can hear muffled shuffling as the killer moves around, then, _"Fox, I have your partner on the phone. Can you say something to her for me?"_ A pause, followed by a sharp hiss. _"Dana,"_ the killer addresses her again, _"would you say something to Fox? It might help him to hear your voice."_

"Mulder, can you hear me?" Scully says, not allowing her voice to tremble. "Mulder, I'm coming to get you, okay? Just hold on for me."

 _"S-scully?"_ A whimper comes over the line. _"Scully, please, help me! I'm so scared!"_ Mulder's voice is desperate, and Scully feels tears gather unbidden in the corners of her eyes. She can’t stand the image of him that comes to mind - alone, hurting, terrified out of his mind.

The killer's voice returns. _"See what I mean? Pathetic."_ The sound of a wet smack and another whimper from Mulder greets Scully from the receiver.

Scully slams her fist against the squad car, trembling. "Damn you! I'm going to kill you!"

 _"You're welcome to try, Dana."_ The killer sounds amused. _"But you'll have to find me first."_

_Click._

"Damn it!" Scully whirls around, addressing the officer. "Did we get the trace?" At her nod, Scully all but pushes her into the driver's seat and rounds the car to climb into the opposite side. They tear out of the parking lot before Scully's door is fully shut. 

Scully clenches her fists, using all of her restraint to resist telling the officer to go faster. They're already going 20 over the speed limit. _Hold on, Mulder,_ she thinks. _I'm coming for you._

-

 ** _Brady Hoover’s House_**  
**_41.4544508, -93.7130393 (A.K.A. Bumfuck, Nowhere)_**  
**_June 8_**  
**_2332_**  


Brady Hoover hangs the phone up on the wall, crossing the room to where Mulder hangs, suspended inelegantly from the ceiling by two chains, manacles rubbing his wrists raw. "Your partner will be here soon," Brady says simply. "We don't have much time left." Mulder bites back a whimper as Brady brushes the skin of his arm, reaching up to roll the drip on the IV wide open.

Sometime during day two, Mulder had managed to escape from the chair. He's not sure, now, how he did it, but he wishes he hadn't. His head still hurts where Brady hit him with the bat, and he's had enough cracked ribs to know what the sharp pains he gets when he dares to breathe mean. But that wasn't the worst of it - Brady had also hooked him up to an IV that kept him in a constant state of panic and made even the slightest touch agony.

He doesn't feel the effects of the opened drip right away. Emboldened by the knowledge that Scully's on her way, Mulder spits in his captor's face. 

Brady's expression shifts to fury as he wipes away the saliva and delivers a swift blow to Mulder's stomach. "You're going to regret that, you little brat." Mulder's heart begins to race as Brady turns away, pulling a cart up from out of his field of vision. The cart has a bucket of water on it, in addition to a few electrical instruments and several blades, long and short. 

_It’s less of a selection than he usually brings,_ Mulder thinks to himself absently as Brady approaches, a smirk creeping across the killer’s face. Mulder’s pupils dilate, muscles clenching and heart pounding so hard he wonders how it hasn’t beat its way out of his chest yet. Panic threatens to overwhelm him. _Fuckfuckfuck,_ please _get here soon, Scully._

With the last of his composure, he chokes out, “Scully is gonna kill you.”

Brady chuckles humorlessly. “I know. In fact, I’m counting on it - but she’ll watch you die first. Now,” he indicates the door at the top of the basement stairs, “we only have about twenty minutes until your partner busts in here, and I still plan to have plenty of fun with you. Let’s get started, shall we?” He selects a short knife, holding it up to the light as if to inspect it. The blade gleams ominously.

Mulder’s vision is blurry as he watches the knife find a home on the skin over his breastbone. He forgets to breathe as his world narrows to the sharp, burning path the blade slices down his front. The cut is shallow, barely bleeds, but to Mulder it’s agony. A scream tears its way out of his already raw throat and he chokes on a sob. 

Worldlessly, Brady drags the blade across the planes of Mulder’s chest, back, thighs -- painting him with anguish and savoring his broken cries.

Mulder is pure sensation. Pain dances down his back, up his thigh, burns across his shoulders and curves over his ribs. Eventually, he feels something slick, dripping down his skin, and the pain changes. It starts with a point; a tingle that spreads and rapidly builds into a crushing, stabbing pain, his muscles jumping with the force of it. It comes again and again and again and he forgets what it was like to feel anything else. He has never known anything but this. 

To Hoover, this is bliss, this is relief. Someone is finally paying for what his best friend had done to him. He can feel weight lift off his shoulders with each cut, each scream making his heart sing. The electricity brings a new pleasure; the body beneath him dances and gasps, soaked in its own juices. Each shock breathes life into his soul and he forgets what being broken feels like. He will never know a greater joy. 

-

 ** _Just Outside Brady Hoover’s House_**  
**_Bumfuck, Nowhere_**  
**_June 8_**  
**_2350_**  


Scully and the officer screech up outside the house in a cloud of dust, lights and sirens blaring. Scully jumps out of the car, gun drawn, as soon as the tires have come to a stop, ready to charge straight into the jaws of death to get her partner back. 

The officer dashes after her, grabbing her arm. “Agent Scully, wait! We don’t have any backup. For all we know, we could be walking right into a trap. It’d be suicide.” 

“He’s my partner. I’m going in.” Scully wrenches her arm away, watching with satisfaction as the officer stumbles back. 

But the officer doesn’t back down. “Agent Scully,” she grabs her arm again, shaking her, “Dana, it’s going to be a shitshow in there. If we go in without backup, we could get killed. We could get your partner killed.” 

Three years ago, Scully would’ve agreed with her. Three years ago, she would’ve played it by the book and waited faithfully for backup. Three years ago, she would’ve let him die. 

But three years ago, she hadn’t met Fox Mulder; hadn’t spent late nights on the road with him driving to the middle of nowhere, hunted ghosts and shapeshifters and aliens and cannibals at his side. Hadn’t learned to be fond of the way he cracks sunflower seeds at all hours, or how he can’t sit still for five minutes, or how he could go on for hours about everything and nothing. Hadn’t known what it was like to follow someone to hell and back thirty times over, crawling out side-by-side, beaten and bloody but still alive. 

How could she not follow him into the dark one more time?

Resolute, Scully wrenches her arm out of the officer’s grip again. “You don’t understand,” she says, looking the officer in the eyes. “ _He’s my partner._ I’m not leaving him in there for one more second.”

Something that might be understanding flickers in the officer’s gaze. She nods at Scully, drawing her own weapon. “Okay. Let’s get your partner.” 

The pair approaches the house side-by-side. The officer breaches the front door and the two work quickly to clear the house before finding the door to the basement. This door opens out, so Scully decides to try the knob before trying to kick it down; God must be smiling on her that day, because the knob turns easily and gives way to a set of cement stairs. 

On the count of three, Scully and the officer charge down the stairs, speaking in unison, “FBI, freeze! Hands in the air!” “DMPD! Stay right where you are!” 

The sight they’re met with when they reach the bottom stops them in their tracks. A blond-haired man, about 5’10’’, stands in front of Mulder, a cattle prod held loosely in one hand. Mulder hangs limply from chains attached to the ceiling, angry cuts and burn marks littering his body. His muscles twitch sporadically and his eyes are glazed over as if he is no longer present. 

It seems to take the man a moment to register their presence, but once he does, the look in his eyes turns a little manic and he drops the cattle prod in favor of a knife. In a flash he has the tip pressed to Mulder’s thigh, right where Scully knows the femoral artery is. Mulder lets out a little gasp at the contact but otherwise doesn’t react.

“Don’t come any closer,” the man warns, drawing a pinprick of blood from Mulder’s leg. “I’ll kill him!” 

Grip on her gun tightening, knuckles white, Scully counters, “Drop the knife, and I’ll consider not killing _you._ ”

“Oh, but I want you to,” the killer says. Scully falters at this. _What?_ “I’m going to kill your partner, and you’re going to kill me, and I’ll finally be at peace.”

The scream Mulder lets out when the killer plunges the knife into the soft flesh of his leg will haunt her for a long time. 

Before she knows it she is squeezing the trigger - but all she gets is a _click_ , telling her the clip is empty. _What? I know I had a full clip when we got here…_ she looks down, seeing the crumpled form of the killer, a puddle of blood forming beneath him. There’s a bullet hole dead-center in his forehead, and she suspects that when an autopsy is done they’ll find the rest of her clip center-mass - but as far as she’s concerned, he got off easy. If the situation had permitted, she’s not sure she would’ve been able to prevent herself from beating the shit out of him - not entirely sure, for that matter, she would’ve wanted to.

But none of that matters now; he’s dead, and Mulder’s bleeding out. 

Scully drops her gun -- barrel still smoking -- and rushes to Mulder’s side. “Help me get him down,” she demands of the officer, who rushes to comply. 

Scully grabs Mulder around the waist, grunting with effort as she hoists him up as much as she can to ease the tension on the chains he’s suspended by. The manacles around Mulder’s wrists are secured firmly by padlocks, but the officer doesn’t waste time looking for the keys, choosing instead to shoot them off. Scully spares half a thought to be grateful for her quick thinking as the two of them work to get Mulder laid out on the floor. 

With Mulder on his back, Scully gets a closer look at the damage to his leg - and breathes a sigh of relief. The knife hadn’t gone too deep, and by sheer dumb luck, the killer had managed to miss the femoral artery entirely. 

Sometimes she thinks Fox Mulder might just be the luckiest unlucky son of a bitch in the world; his sister had been kidnapped when he was a kid, his mother had almost died, he frequently found himself at the heart of near-deadly government conspiracies - and yet, despite all of this, his would-be killer had somehow missed the artery he’d been perfectly poised to sever. He would’ve bled out in minutes, and there would’ve been very little Scully could do about it in such a remote location.

Scully pulls off her blazer, whispering hushed apologies to him as she presses it firmly around the hilt of the knife. He whimpers. She glances up, noticing his hitched sobs and the rapid beat of his heart visible through his chest. Her eyes search out the officer, jerking her chin toward Mulder’s leg and snapping, “hold pressure here. I need to check him for other injuries.” 

The officer complies immediately, sure hands replacing Scully’s around the wound. “Backup and an ambulance are two minutes out,” she tells Scully, and sure enough, the sound of sirens blaring approaches rapidly.

Scully jerks her head up and down in acknowledgment, hands already probing Mulder for further injuries. She notes at least 10 long but superficial lacerations in various locations along his body in addition to several burn marks -- mostly electrical -- of varying degrees of severity, taking particular notice of the way even the slightest touch makes him gasp out in pain. 

Finally, she locates the cause: an IV taped to Mulder’s arm. _That explains heightened stress response and sensitivity to pain,_ she thinks to herself, reading the label on the now-empty bag.

“Oh, Mulder,” Scully says, discarding the bag and pulling Mulder’s head into her lap. She runs bloody fingers through his hair and silently curses his tormentor, wishing she could’ve put a couple more bullets into the man. Mulder whimpers, trying to pull away. “It’s okay, Mulder. You’re going to be okay,” she whispers to him. 

He blinks up at her with unfocused eyes. “Scully?” 

“It’s me, Mulder,” she assures him. 

“Scully.” He closes his eyes, wincing but leaning into her touch all the same. “Hurts,” he gasps out. 

“I know, sweetheart,” she says, pet name slipping out unnoticed as she strokes one hand, feather-light, through his hair. The other flutters around his forehead, face, chin - anywhere she can reach, trying to ground him without causing more pain. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now.” His hands grasp at her slacks, shifting so he can bury his face in her stomach. 

He cries. 

He cries, pulling her impossibly closer, and Scully’s heart breaks. This has to be hurting him, she knows, but he’s so desperate for comfort that he’s willing to take the pain if it means he can be closer to her. 

Tears slip out of her eyes unbidden as she whispers, “you’re safe now, Mulder. You’re mine, and I have you, and no one’s going to hurt you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short, and I'm not entirely satisfied, but I rewrote this chapter like 5 times and this is the closest I could come to something I was happy with. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Update 07/04/2020: added a short bit to the end of the chapter explaining Brady's motivations. Hopefully it makes sense.

**_Iowa Methodist Hospital_**  
**_Des Moines, Iowa_**  
**_June 9_**  
**_1500_**  


Mulder wakes to a soft snuffling, opening his eyes and turning his head to find Scully curled up in a chair pulled up beside his bed. 

Every ache in Mulder’s body eases as he watches her sleep; her mouth is open -- drool pooling on the cushion her in a way he knows she hates but he secretly finds adorable -- and her cheeks are flushed a light pink, hands clutching a light blue blanket no doubt laid on her by a kind nurse. 

What strikes him most in this moment, though, is how smooth her face looks, untroubled however briefly by the weight of the constant worry she has for him in consciousness. Mulder thinks that he could happily pass eternity watching her like this. 

Recently it had seemed as if the wrinkles in her brow were being etched deeper with each passing day, and his guilt was mounting; she has so much concern for him, and for what? No one else had ever cared for him with such abandon, and if she ever leaves, he doubts anyone ever will again. 

But it doesn’t matter. She cares for him, and that’s enough for now. He closes his eyes and lets the sound of her breathing lull him back to sleep. 

-

 ** _Dana Scully’s Apartment_**  
**_Georgetown, DC_**  
**_June 10_**  
**_1300_**  


“No.” Scully’s voice is flat. 

“But Scully --” 

Mulder’s looking up her with an earnest, _‘I-just-want-to-make-you-happy’_ look, and she’s endeared, really, but… “You’re injured, Mulder. I’m not letting you run me a bath.” 

“Then come lay down,” he says, trying and failing to hide a wince as he scoots over to make room for her on the bed. “Please, Scully, you need to relax. I know the last time you slept was in that hospital chair, and those things are not comfortable.” 

Scully sighs. 

She is feeling a bit frazzled; getting back to DC had been a bit of an ordeal. Mulder had fought tooth and nail against being pushed around in a wheelchair, but he wouldn’t be allowed to walk on his injured leg for a couple of weeks and he couldn’t use crutches with the state of his ribs. Scully had eventually given him enough threatening looks that he behaved, reluctantly. The pout had remained in full force on his face until he eventually fell asleep on her shoulder on the flight back to DC. 

(if she had pressed a kiss into his forehead and pulled him closer, and the old lady sitting next to them on the plane had given her a knowing look, no one had to know.)

She’d briefly considered trying to sleep on the couch, but there was no way she was letting him out of her sight for the foreseeable future. 

“Fine,” she acquiesces, sliding in next to him under the sheets. Mulder immediately wraps his arms around her middle, resting his head on her chest. 

She makes a noise of protest, but makes no real attempt to push him off; having him in her arms -- warm, safe, _alive_ \-- is comforting, and she feels herself relax as she listens to his steady breaths. She vows to herself that she will keep him safe like this for as long as she can.

What could be hours or minutes later, Mulder whispers, “Scully? Thank you for coming to get me.” 

“Mulder, I will always come for you,” Scully answers, gazing down at him as her fingers stroke through his hair. 

“I know,” Mulder agrees quietly, refusing to meet her eye. “But you don’t have to. No one else would. I don’t deserve it.”

“Mulder.” Her hand freezes. “Mulder, listen to me. If I could, I would personally hunt down everyone who’s ever made you feel like that and kick their asses. I _hate_ that you’ve been treated so badly.” She forces him to meet her gaze. “As long as I’m alive, I will always come for you, and you will always deserve it. No matter what you’ve done.” He closes his eyes as if in pain, and she knows he isn’t ready to hear the words - but knows, too, that he needs to hear them all the same. 

His breath hitches as he whispers his confession into her breast. “I love you, Scully.” 

She rubs his back, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I love you too, Mulder. I always will.”

-

**Excerpt from case report number [REDACTED]**  
**Reporting Agent: Scully, Dana**  
**Case Status: Closed**

_The motivation required to snuff out an innocent human life will always elude me. Brady Hoover had seven victims, none of which had done him any wrong, or beside Agent Mulder presented him any threat. Yet he tortured and killed them brutally._

_What creates this evil, this brutality, in a person? Is it nature or nurture? Was Hoover doomed from birth to become a killer, or did his specific circumstances cause him to grow into one? Science has yet to offer us definitive answers._

_Information provided by Agent Mulder about the killer, however, has shed some light on this specific case: it seems that Brady Hoover was attempting to find in his victims a surrogate for his childhood friend, a Matthew Ross. Hoover had followed Ross first into the military and later into a police force, but due to subpar performance had been passed over for promotion multiple times in favor of Ross. These were perceived by Hoover as personal sleights on Ross’ part, leading to a bitter resentment of his friend._

_It’s unclear what triggered this resentment to become homicidal rage; perhaps his friend received another promotion, or perhaps it was a natural progression given Hoover’s mental state. We have no way of knowing now that he’s deceased._

_The use of force, however, was undoubtedly necessary. The threat Hoover presented to Agent Mulder - and society at large, if unapprehended - was clear and immediate. I do not regret my actions and would repeat them given the same circumstances._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished! I really hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr: @impulsive-astrophile


End file.
